Book of Ideas
by Luxoir
Summary: In his fourth year John Watson meets a rude and unambitious Slytherin. They might even have to trust each other.
1. Chapter 1

1

"Why don't we go to the pub for a drink?"

I frowned and glanced sideways at her. "My mother is here somewhere. And I'm not old enough to get a Firewhisky-"

"Oh shut up, Lestrade told me what you were doing last year, on that 'boys weekend'," Amelia laughed. I could feel my cheeks heating up and my ears going red.

"It wasn't me who put that dress on him, it was Lewis, I swear," I protested, folding my arms in a pointless attempt to look more intimidating.

We were supposed to be buying our new school supplies for the coming year; I needed new robes and Amelia needed a new owl. As usual she and I had left it until the last week before our fourth year started, and Diagon Alley was packed. I wasn't much looking forward to fourth year; it was just more of the same stuff, and while Duelling Classes would keep me going until Christmas, teachers had warned us about the overload of work that was to come.

On a delightfully elegant stand in front of my nose sat an equally elegant broomstick; perfectly poised and polished inky black wood gleaming under the lights above it. Unfortunately there was a pane of glass between me and it. _Don't even look at the price, you know you can't afford it._

"You're a Chaser, John, you don't need a fast one like that," Amelia said firmly, noticing my vacant stare.

I shrugged sheepishly. "Yeah, well, I could be the fastest Chaser on there, Ravenclaw wouldn't stand a _chance." _

Other students started to complain loudly behind us about how we were hogging the window space so I nudged Amelia and squeezed out of the crowd. A buttery, sugary but not overly sweet smell was wafting down the busy street from the Ice Cream Parlour, and I instinctively fished around in my pockets for spare change.

Amelia, however, had other ideas, and noticed that I wasn't moving in any particular direction. "Let's find Harry," she suggested, taking me by the arm and not waiting for a reply.

I groaned as she led me through the mass of black and grey wizards and witches in the centre of the alley. While Amelia was a very good friend, the best friend I've ever had, she dragged me places a lot. _What's the word? Forceful._

"Why?" I grumbled, as people prodded and pushed from every side. "I don't need to talk to her or anything, I'll see her later-"

"She said she had something for you," she replied with a smirk over her shoulder.

"Like _what? _What is so important that she couldn't give me it later?" I raised my voice above the chatter of students as we made our way down the street to Ollivander's.

Amelia shrugged but didn't turn around, increasing her pace. "I think she wants me to be there."

Ollivander's was empty, as all the first years had already bought their wands. My sister, Harry, had left Hogwarts three years ago and after a gap year she never really talks about, got a job at Ollivander's.

I was rather nervous because my sister is not the type to involve other people in her evil doings.

"John, what took you so long?" the woman behind the desk tutted as we entered the shop. My sister has always been taller than me, which has irked me to no end. Her dark golden hair was thicker than mine and her emerald eyes were brighter than mine. She had always been better at magic than me.

_Not that I was comparing myself to a girl. Especially my sister._

I inched up to the desk nervously. The familiar smell of old, musty books was in the air, but this time it didn't help me relax. "You had something? For me?"

Harry grinned and winked at Amelia before disappearing into the back of the shop, behind the towering shelves of wand boxes.

We stood in silence, Amelia occasionally glancing at me and trying to contain her laughter. Finally my sister arrived back, carrying a large, light brown cardboard box in her arms.

I swallowed.

"What's that," I asked hoarsely as she placed it carefully on the counter.

Amelia almost couldn't contain her excitement. "Well, because you haven't got an owl-"

"You _didn't,"_ my mouth opened. Harry, still grinning, gestured for me to open the box. I fumbled with the cardboard but managed to lift the lid-

A sleek ebony black cat leapt out and straight into my arms, the shock nearly knocking me backwards. It nudged my shoulder and tried to curl up against my chest; my heartbeat still racing, a shaky giggle forced its way out then became a proper laugh.

"Is it a he?" I grinned, the cat still bouncing around my shoulders as I tried to keep it in my arms.

Harry and Amelia shook their heads at the same time, clearly gleeful that I was pleased. "She," Harry answered happily. "We thought you should name her."

It, or she, had finally settled down as I cradled her; she had clearly been excited to be out of her box. I looked at her carefully; she seemed like a young cat, less than a year old. She was thin, too, but not unnaturally so, more streamlined than bony. Her gleaming midnight fur was neatly groomed and her huge ocean blue eyes stared up at me.

_Name._

_I'm awful at names._

I thought instantly of the Quasar broomstick that had captured my attention in the window of the Quiddich supplies shop earlier. Her eyes captured me in the same way that I could almost not look away.

"Orion," I grinned. She started to purr in my arms. _I think she likes it too._


	2. Chapter 2

I had met Amelia on the Hogwarts Express on the way home for Christmas in our first year. As soon as she sat opposite me, with her eccentric dress sense and wild dark brown curls I knew I wanted to be her friend.

See, I am really, really unnoticeable.

Like, really.

So unnoticeable it gets to the point where I can actually start talking to people and they genuinely have no idea I am right next to them.

I have pondered over this for years and have decided it must be because I am ordinary. My hair is short, mousy tree kind of coloured. I'm kind of short. My personality is nothing to shout about: I try to be loyal to anything I have (back then, not much, except for my sister), I'm insecure, slow at catching onto things and get confused easily. I'm not very confident, especially when it comes to talking to other students.

And just to make me a mockery, the Sorting Hat put me in Gryffindor.

I have also debated over why this was for four years, and I have yet to come to a conclusion.

I'm not brave. When I hear all these heroic stories of past Gryffindors, in contrast to my classmates, they make me scared; scared of the pressure. I know no one expects me to save anyone's life or defeat evil, but seriously, even the Doxys terrified me in Care of Magical Creatures lessons.

One thing I do pride myself on, though, is duelling.

But that doesn't seem to get me noticed, just disliked slightly.

"Hey, John, where were you last week?" was the way Davies Hunter greeted me as I slipped into the compartment. The floor began to shudder and Platform 9 and ¾ started to slide past the window, slate grey smoke floating by.

"Busy," was my reply as I flopped down onto the seats, releasing a small cloud of dust.

Well, that was a lie. I had been with Amelia, of course, in Diagon Alley, but I wasn't going to tell Davies that.

He smirked, as if he could tell through my expert lying (sarcasm), but didn't chase it up. I looked at him, and noticed that he was going against his resolution to keep his dark hair short.

"How come you're growing it?" I asked mildly, and he grinned.

"You know that Ravenclaw girl who asked for a quill last year at Christmas? The pretty one," he added, seeming worried that I wouldn't know who he was talking about. In fact, I didn't recall her at all, seen as though this encounter had been _last year _and I am never very good at remembering faces. But I knew Davies would press me until I lied anyway, so I nodded as enthusiastically as I could. "Well, I overheard her talking with her friends and she said she liked boys with longer hair," Davies continued seriously.

I sighed inwardly.

"Cool," I grinned back. Then I turned to look at Jacob Jones who was sat next to Davies. I often preferred him to Davies; he wasn't as loud and he was much more aware of his morals.

But then again, he was shy, possibly even shier than me around other people, and this has never been good for my confidence.

Or my reputation.

"How was your holiday, Jacob?" I'm not sure why, but I'm always more polite around Davies. Maybe because he hated being a child and couldn't wait to grow up faster.

Jacob smiled hesitantly with those thin lips of his, his eyes crinkling at the corners, almost like an old person's, but somehow extremely youthful. "It was okay, I guess. My mum got me a new owl," he said sheepishly, as if she had somehow denied Davies and I an owl at the same time.

I thought instantly of my new cat, but wondered whether I should mention her or not. Davies might think it was a bit… Sissy.

"Hey, did you see that Quasar? In Diagon Alley?" Davies said excitedly, his eyes gleaming with longing.

"It looks great," I replied earnestly, glad for a change of topic. "Expensive, though."

Davies waved a hand in dismissal. "Yeah, well, like we'd be able to afford any kind of broom like that. I'd just like a go on one."

Jacob nodded beside him, giving a little smile. Both Davies and I were on the Gryffindor Quiddich team, he was a Beater and I was a Chaser. I liked Quiddich; I was sort of good at it, although this didn't seem to get me noticed either. _Shut up, get on with it._

Davies stretched his legs out, leaned back and popped a sweet in his mouth, chewing it thoughtfully. The landscape past the window had already changed to rolling dusty green hills dotted with thickets of undergrowth and a few tall trees. I leaned back too, gazing through the glass into the world beyond, settling in for the journey ahead.

We changed into our robes just after the sun had set over the Scottish border, and then sat back down in our compartment, not talking about anything in particular, discussing what kind of song the Sorting Hat would come up with this year. I opened my mouth to ask Jacob the name of his new owl when there was a sharp knock on the glass door.

We all turned our heads at the same time.

The door opened, allowing the noise of the corridor into the compartment. A boy was standing with one hand on the wood, one leg crossed over the other and a certain casual air about him.

"John Watson," the boy said brusquely, looking directly at me. It wasn't a question asking if that was my name, it was a statement.

I raised my eyebrows. "Mm?"

The boy was taller than me; with dark curly hair down to his ears and sharp, angular features. I didn't recognise him, and wondered why he was looking for me.

However, before I could ask, he disappeared down the corridor with a sweep of his robes.

"What was that about?" Jacob wondered blankly.

Davies was looking at me curiously. "Who was he?"

"I don't know," I replied, bewildered. A sudden curiosity sparked and I stood, not entirely sure what I was doing, and followed the boy into the corridor. I could hear Jacob and Davies calling after me, but I ignored them for now.

The darkness from outside threw his figure into sharp contrast with the lights within the carriage as he strode away from me, the train bumping along the tracks. Everyone else seemed to be somewhere else, getting ready, perhaps, to arrive at the station.

"Wait up," I called, hurrying after the boy, touching the windows as I went so I didn't lose my balance. "Wait."

He didn't stop, though, so I increased my pace and soon caught up with him, but even then he didn't stop.

"Hey, what did you-"

"What is the name of the Potions master here at Hogwarts?" the boy suddenly asked, turning his head so I could see his profile. I immediately noticed his bright hazel eyes glinted silver in the dim lighting. I didn't recognise him; was he a fifth year?

The question threw me off. "Er," I replied blankly, trying to kick my brain into gear again. "Er, Professor Vonich," I said eventually, still hurrying behind him down the long carriage. _What? How can he not remember that? _"Why? Didn't you get taught-"

"And where is the Potions supply room?" his voice wasn't aggressive, but he had the air of annoyance, as if he didn't like asking questions.

The train suddenly ground to a halt, and I almost lost my balance, gripping onto the side panelling. I looked out the window and sure enough, we had pulled into the station, dark, except for the glowing lights hovering around the undergrowth. Smoke drifting pas the window again. Students hurrying around on the platform, with scarves spilling from bags and all kinds of owls and animals screeching from cages.

_I need to find Amelia, she has Orion…_

"Oh, sorry, yes, dungeons, didn't you study it last year?" I frowned. Was this some kind of joke?

He looked at me with such a scathing, irritated look that I immediately gritted my teeth. "What? Why are you asking, you should-"

"I was not in Hogwarts last year," came the reply, and the boy started walking again, no, sweeping, down the train and disappeared onto the platform.

_Oh well that clears things up, thanks._

I sighed. _Collins probably put him up to that, whoever he is, just to annoy me. Ignore it._

Emerging from the train, I shivered, my breath crystallising in the frosty air. As soon as my feet touched the platform, I saw Amelia hurrying towards me, with Orion's cage in her arms.

"Thanks," I said gratefully as I took the cage from her.

"Thank _you,_" she replied with a smile. She had asked if she could take care of my new cat on the journey. "She is very well behaved," Amelia added.

I nodded. "See you later," I called, as the body of students swept me sideways as they all spilled off the train.

I saw the boy again as Jacob, Davies and I got into a horseless carriage to take us up to the castle. There was a light mist in the air, but I could still make out his tall figure down the line of carriages. He looked like he was putting his hand out to stroke something.

_There aren't any horses pulling them, though._

I shrugged to myself and closed the little door behind me as I sat, lifting Orion's cage onto my lap. Neither Davies nor Jacob noticed.

I found myself watching the boy from the train carefully as we filed into the Great Hall for the start of the year feast. There had been something about him that told me that it hadn't been a prank by anyone. He didn't seem to be the person to be asked favours of.

I forgot all about him, though, as we sat down at the Gryffindor table. It felt so nice to be back here, even though it meant work, detentions and more social awkwardness: even the sight of the awful Potions master, Professor Vonich, couldn't spoil it. The wood under my fingers just felt comforting. The din of students gabbling away to each other about their summers pleasantly filled my ears.

As the Sorting began, Davies started whispering his plans to wreck our Potions lessons to me.

I felt my jaw drop as a name was called and the boy from the train emerged and stiffly walked to the front, looking extremely out of place in amongst the first years. The Sorting Hat was placed on his head, and I could see students at the other house tables craning their heads with curiosity. Not a first year, getting Sorted?

"Slytherin!" the Hat cried, and I breathed a sigh of relief as the boy stood, looking unsurprised, and went to join the Slytherin table. This meant I wouldn't have to talk to him again, seen as though Gryffindors would never particularly make friends with Slytherins. _Thank goodness._

But where had he come from? What year was in? Why had he asked me those questions on the train?

_Damn my curiosity._


	3. Chapter 3

"Oh, Watson, I saw you've met Holmes already, why don't you help him around the castle?"

I started, looking up at Professor Teare with a blank expression. It took me a moment to realise who she was talking about. "But he's in Slytherin," I blurted out. _No, no, no._

She frowned at me. As if the teachers didn't know about the rivalry of the green snake and the golden lion.

"I can't, we didn't really talk, I don't know-" I ramble on, not even sure why I was refusing.

"Really, Watson, there is nothing wrong with him," the Charms professor continued irritably. "I expect you to show him full courtesy, as he is a new student. Meet him tomorrow morning at breakfast, show him around." I opened my mouth to protest and she frowned over her black rimmed glasses. "I really don't know what you've got against the poor boy," she added. "He won't bite."

_I don't know either. Not really._

What did I actually have against him?

That I thought he was pulling a prank on me?

_But now it turns out he wasn't, why not give him a chance? He might be really nice. _

_What was his name again? Holmes?_

As Professor Teare wandered away to help other students with finding the right page in our new books, my gaze also wandered around the room, instinctively catching Amelia's eye. She was looking at me and leaning forward, as if she had been listening in on our conversation. As soon as she noticed me looking at her she glanced away.

I frowned. _I don't really know what's going on today._

_She said he would meet me at breakfast._

_He's not here._

_Maybe I should leave._

_Leave and forget about him._

_He's Slytherin now, I'm supposed to hate him or something._

I was overthinking things far too much this morning.

"What's up with you?" I heard Amelia's teasing from just behind me. She came and sat next to me on the Gryffindor table with toast in hand. It was only the second day of the year and already I had two essays to complete by Friday. We were handed our new timetables yesterday, and it didn't look too bad. I was so looking forward to the first Quiddich practice.

After what Professor Teare had told me yesterday, I had been jumpy for the rest of the afternoon and into evening. I wasn't quite sure what I was expecting; for him to jump out and hex me or something.

_Stop being scared; all he did was talk to you._

_Yeah, but why did he pick me out?_

_Maybe he saw your name on your luggage._

"Er, nothing," I replied with a slightly airy smile and instinctively reached forwards to ladle scrambled eggs onto my plate. Then decided my stomach couldn't quite handle that on top of all the unexpected butterflies so took some toast instead. "Shouldn't you be with your other friends?" I asked, not particularly concentrating on Amelia as I smeared a layer of strawberry jam onto my breakfast. "I mean, your, er," I stammered, trying to correct my mistake.

She shrugged. "Nah, they don't mind me hanging around with you, you know. It's your friends who seem to have the problem, right?"

"Um, yeah. Yeah." I kept moving the knife across my toast unconsciously, trying not to look her in the eye.

"I'd better be off," she said suddenly and disappeared down the table and I was left on my own again, staring blankly at my jam covered toast.

"Hello," a measured voice came from right next to my ear, and I jumped about a mile out of my seat. Promptly dropping my toast on the table and whirling round at the same time, I instantly recognised the dark curls and surprisingly bright eyes. He was sitting, quite relaxed, at the table as if he belonged here.

"Er, hello," I managed to croak back. _Okay, this scared thing has to stop. He is not scary. You don't even know his full name._

"John Watson," I offered my hand and he shook it. Then I realised he already knew my full name. _Damn it._

"Sherlock Holmes," he replied. "We're in the same Potions class, I take it?"

"Yeah," I answered, relieved; about what, I wasn't sure. "Yeah, third class today. Have you got all your books and everything?"

"Obviously." Coming from anyone else that might have sounded rude, but coming from him… He just sounded bored.

"Why have you suddenly come to Hogwarts anyway?" I decided to plough on while I was still feeling relatively confident.

"I was in Durmstrang," Sherlock Holmes replied lazily. I waited for him to say more, perhaps why he was no longer in Durmstrang, but he was pointedly silent. _Wow, I've never met anyone from a different magical school. I wonder why he went there in the first place. He doesn't sound Scandinavian. Or Russian._

"Professor Teare suggested that I, er, show you around and everything," I explained.

"Yes, I know," he sounded quite pleased with himself, but for what reason, I couldn't guess.

_Was he pleased that I was the one who was asked? _

"On the train-" I started to ask hesitantly, wondering if this was a bit too much too quickly, but he cut across me.

"You were recommended," he said.

"By who?" I asked blankly.

His eyes flicked down the table and I followed his gaze. Amelia was looking at us, almost sheepishly. _Sorry, _she mouthed to me, but then she grinned and turned away back to her friends.

"You know Amelia?" I gaped. "How?"

"I made a deal with her brother once," Sherlock replied with a shrug. There was a pause. "I knew I would need a bit of-" his voice was filled with disgust, "_assistance_ when I got here. Amelia recommended you."

"Oh." _So he only talked to you because Amelia told him to. _

"I knew Professor Teare was watching from the platform when I met you on the train. I knew she would ask you to help me. This way, teachers won't get suspicious."

"Why would they get suspicious?" I asked glumly, not really concentrating on Sherlock anymore. People from other house tables were turning round in their seats to catch a glimpse of the new boy. Other Gryffindors were looking at me curiously.

"My methods aren't what you call… conventional."

It took me a few moments to realise what Sherlock had said. "Conventional? What do you mean, methods?" I replied nervously, swiping the knife across my toast again.

"Well, you might get in trouble, that's all," he said, in a matter of fact way, leaning his elbow on the table.

I was trying to formulate some kind of reply when he promptly stood and started striding away. "And your Potions book is under the scales cabinet in the dungeons," he called lazily over his shoulder, and then disappeared through the massive oaken doors at the end of the hall.

I sat there, feeling like a complete idiot, still swiping the knife across my toast. Clenching my fist, I carefully laid the knife down next to my plate and took a deep breath.

_Well, that went well, _I thought sarcastically. _He probably thinks you're a clueless wreck, well done. _

This is what happens when I try and get myself noticed.

I get so bored sometimes of everyone ignoring me that I try and strike up conversations, or get involved in one thing or another. It usually ends in disaster.

There was this one time when I asked Felicity to the end of year ball-

Oh, you won't want to know about that.

"Sorry," Amelia was sat next to me again, but with a smile on her face. "Well, I'm not sorry, it'll do you good."

"What do you mean?" I frowned. "And why did you 'recommend' me?"

"I mean, he's not what you'd call conspicuous."

I felt my ears heat up. Maybe she was more perceptive of my feelings that I gave her credit for.

"And well, he asked for someone who knew the castle, and you know it probably better than anyone, John."

That was probably true, although I'd never thought of it that way before. Davies and Jacob usually tried to chat up girls at the house tables at lunch, which I wasn't particularly keen on, and Lestrade would go to the library with Anderson, who was extremely irritating. So I was left with a few spare hours in the day, which I spent wandering around the castle. It was surprising how many new things I discovered each term, and I began to wonder if the castle was less reluctant to share its secrets with me than anyone else.

"How do you know him? Was he telling the truth?" I asked, taking a bite from my toast, my appetite returning slightly.

"Yeah, he was." It was her turn to go slightly pink at the cheeks. "He and my brother go way back. And John," her expression turned serious. "There are… things you should probably know about Sherlock Holmes."

I raised my eyebrows. "Mm?"

"He's a bit… _unusual."_

"Should fit right in with me, then," I said dryly.

"No, I mean, seriously weird," she insisted. "Scary, even. He can tell things about you before he's even talked to you."

"Like what?"

Amelia hesitated. I'd never seen her like this, unsure of saying something. "Ask him. But just be prepared."

"Prepared for _what?"_ I raised my voice, because she stood up, attempted to smile like her normal self and started to walk away.

A lot of people were walking away and leaving me feeling like an idiot today.

As I turned back to my toast, trying to digest the multitude of interesting conversations from this morning, I suddenly remembered Sherlock's parting words.

_Your Potions book is under the scales cabinet in the dungeons._

Five minutes later I was reaching around the grimy floor in my empty Potions classroom. I could feel my heart thumping against my chest.

My eyes widened as my fingers clasped what felt like the corner of a book. Taking a deep breath I brought my arm out of the dusty shadows under the scales cabinet, and sure enough, in my now blackened fingers was my old Potions book.

_What the…_

I flicked through the pages, dumbfounded. This was my book from my second year. On the first day I had spilled some of the CHECK we had been trying to make on the front cover, and it had burnt right through it. Useless, I had left it on the table, I think, as I'd left the class, presuming someone else would pick it up and dispose of it.

I hadn't left my name in it, nor put any distinguishing marks anywhere on the pages. _How did he know it was mine? How did he even know it was under here?_

I remembered Amelia's last words too.

_Just be prepared._


	4. Chapter 4

It was that evening that Sherlock Holmes made his reappearance.

I was sat on one of the massive armchairs by the crackling fire in the Gryffindor common room, Orion curled around my foot and a huge pile of parchment in front of me. Jacob was asleep in the chair opposite me, his head bowed to his chest and arm hanging limply. I rubbed my eyes. _I should probably get to bed soon. _There weren't many other Gryffindors in the common room; most had gone to their bunks.

I heard the password being said and the portrait door opened. I barely even blinked, not particularly caring who it was, I was so tired.

"John," a voice said from behind me.

I made some kind of incoherent sound back, wanting it to sound like 'mm?' but came out like 'mmmmr'. _Okay you need sleep now._

"John, wake up, there is something I need to ask you."

I forced myself to sit up and turn my head around. Almost jumping out of my skin, I was greeted by now familiar piercing silvery eyes. "_Sherlock,_" I hissed, "how did you get the password? Who told you?"

"No one told me," he said impatiently. "There isn't any aconite in the supply cabinet, nor in Vonich's office. Is there a specific reason for this or should I go out and collect my own?"

I blinked blearily, my brain dimly stirring as I tried to keep up with him. "Sherlock, I don't know who gave you the password, but can you talk to me tomorrow?" I said hoarsely. "I'm tired, I have work."

He waved a hand impatiently. "This is more important than your work."

I sighed and took a deep breath, rubbing my eyes and attempting to sit up straighter. "What time is it anyway?"

"Just past three," Sherlock replied promptly, taking a spare armchair next to the fire.

"What are you doing up anyway?" I yawned, not quite remembering why he was even here.

He tightened his lips, as if he was considering whether to lie or to tell me the actual reason he was awake at this ungodly hour.

"Vonich only just fell asleep," he admitted eventually.

"Wait, so you sneaked into his office? Doesn't he sleep somewhere else?"

"Yes, but that's not the point."

_What on earth is he going on about?_

I looked across at Jacob who was still fast asleep. I envied him.

"Sherlock, seriously, I need to go to bed. Can you just tell me who told you the password, so I can hex them tomorrow morning?" I asked, only half joking.

Sherlock paused again for a few thoughtful moments before replying. "Of course, you need your sleep," he said, as if he didn't, "and like I said before, no one told me the password, I figured it out."

I couldn't help but make a sceptical noise in my throat. "Oh yeah? How did you do that then?"

Another pause. "If you must know, it was easy. The Fat Lady seems to have a tendency to sing in the tone of the first letter; currently C flat. That would be either the letter P or the letter B. The password to Gryffindor Tower is almost always something completely unconnected to the house itself, nor any of the other houses, for that matter. Professor Lorette, while appearing to choose the passwords at random, reuses subtle variations of each and connects the next one with the previous. The previous password was _Bubbled, _so the current could not begin with B, so must begin with P. Logic would lead from _Bubbled _to _Cauldron _to _Cooking _and then to _Percoquo, _the Latin for _bake._'

I sat there, trying to figure out if this was a dream or not.

"John?" Sherlock frowned. "Are you asleep?"

I forced myself to sit up properly again and stared at him. "If you're not making that up, that was brilliant."

I couldn't quite rely on my sight as I was so tired, but I thought I saw a tiny smile play on Sherlock's lips. "That's not what people usually say."

"What do people usually say?"

"Piss off," the smile was more apparent now.

_This fits what Amelia was saying. If he does this all the time, I can see how it could get annoying._

"You don't seem to need any help around the castle, though," I couldn't stop myself from yawning this time. "You don't need me."

"On the contrary," he protested lightly. "Amelia said you know all the passageways around here, something that might take me a while, you'll save a lot of time and effort."

I couldn't be bothered to feel irritated this late. "Okay, fine," I yawned again. "And I dunno about that thing you asked. I don't really know about the potions stuff."

I suddenly noticed my foot had gone cold; Orion jumped up onto Sherlock's lap. For a moment I thought he was going to move her off, but he hesitantly placed a hand on her back. She began to purr, head butting his stomach and curling around on his lap.

"She likes you," I mumbled, my power of speech slowly diminishing. _She's not usually this friendly._

Sherlock didn't reply but continued to stroke her, a look of almost wonder on his face.

"You need to sleep too," I continued, feeling an unaccustomed rush of… affection? _It's because you're tired. Stop being mushy, remember how rude he's been to you._

"Sleep's boring."

I wasn't quite sure how to reply to that, so I remained silent, watching the dying embers of the fire glowing. Jacob began to snore lightly and I thought about my warm bed in the dormitory, cosy and sheltered from the rain outside, Orion curled on the end…

There was a kerfuffle at the bottom of the stairs in the shadows, and my eyes flicked to the figure of Lestrade stumbling down. "Watson, keep it down, people are trying to-"

His eyes grew wide as he caught sight of Sherlock sitting in the armchair, who still hadn't looked up.

"_You,"_ Lestrade's face contorted into an expression of utter hatred.

"Lestrade, I sincerely hope you are not here to make judgements, certainly not of me," Sherlock uttered casually, looking at the Gryffindor with calm eyes. I glanced between the two of them, bewildered.

"Lestrade, what-"

"Shut up, Watson, this has nothing to do with you," he snapped at me, not taking his eyes of the Slytherin in the armchair. Orion looked up curiously.

"Should we not enlighten him on the reason you are so…" he paused to search for a word. "Irritated?"

Lestrade was almost beside himself with anger, his eyes filled with fire. He drew his wand with a twirl of his pyjamas, but Sherlock drew his just as quickly. Orion silently dropped to the floor and melted into the shadows.

Sherlock and I stood at the same time. "Lestrade, what are you doing?" I asked blankly. "Go to sleep, Sherlock's not doing any har-"

"I said _shut up,_" he snarled. "_Silenci-_"

"_Stupefy!"_

There was a flash of red light and Lestrade's face froze. He tumbled backward, unconscious, to the floor.

"Amelia hadn't mentioned him, I should have guessed the Hat would have put him in Gryffindor," Sherlock remarked, sighing through his nose as he gazed down at Lestrade's deadly still figure.

I realised my mouth was open and my wand drawn, so I close the former and put away the latter. "You just Stupefied him," I gaped. "I've never seen a student do that to another before."

"Really?" Sherlock looked at me, almost lazily. "It's common practice in Durmstrang. You should try it sometime."

"Why did you do it?" I asked shakily.

"Stupefy him? He was being mildly irritating, I hate it when people are aggressive and don't do anything about it." Sherlock sat gracefully back down and folded his hands thoughtfully.

_Probably too much to hope that he did that because Lestrade was about to hex you, _I told myself, a little glumly. _And come on, you're supposed to be good at duelling, that's just about the only thing you _can _do. _

"I probably shouldn't have rendered him unconscious; it would be good to see what other hexes he could come up with. He was never very imaginative."

"You know him?" I didn't even have enough energy to sit down, and shock had registered my legs unmovable.

"Obviously." Sherlock's gaze flicked to Jacob. "He'll wake up in a second, I should go."

"Thank you," I muttered, half yawning again, not even bothering to ask how he knew.

Sherlock looked at me for a moment then nodded. He stood and with a sweep of dark green robes he disappeared through the portrait door.

With a snort, Jacob opened his eyes blearily, clutching a piece of parchment to his chest. "What time is it?" he mumbled.

Tired as I was, I smiled a little. "About half three, I think."

"What's Lestrade doing on the floor?"

I'd forgotten about him.

"He passed out, had too much to drink," I lied, absently wondering whether I should move him out the way.

Jacob looked sleepily confused. "Let's get him upstairs; people might step on him in the morning."

I scowled, not really wanting to move him. "Alright," I sighed eventually, and we managed to haul the unconscious Gryffindor up to the dormitory and onto his bed. Finally, blissfully, I lay in my own, and thoughts of this evening's events disappeared from my mind as I sunk into sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

For a few days Sherlock seemed to vanish. I was dismayed to find his seat empty in Potions, Defence Against the Dark Arts and he wasn't present at our Care of Magical Creatures lessons either.

When I asked Gryffindor head of house, Professor Lorette, where he was, she looked sideways at me.

"Why do you care if a Slytherin is missing?"

I was a little taken aback. "Well, Professor Teare asked me to help him around, you know, because he's new and everything."

"Well, I have no idea, why don't you ask Professor Vonich?"

The head of Slytherin house was tall and scary, so I ruled that out.

I had other issues to be getting on with beside a missing Slytherin, however.

"Your girlfriend," Davies nudged me.

My insides gave that tell-tale squirm but hit him with my bag; he laughed. Davies and I were sprawled on the grass in the courtyard; grey skies and upcoming Potions lesson had not put me in the greatest of moods.

I couldn't help but watch out of the corner of my eye as Professor Heartley strode across the gravel on the other side of the courtyard, purple robes sweeping out behind her. From my limited view, she looked like she was smiling.

Okay, so I have a bit of a crush.

First things first: she is in her twenties so it's not that bad.

Secondly, I wasn't very obvious about it.

Although of course Davies knew, he seemed to know everything when it came to that kind of thing.

Professor Rachel Heartley was our Care of Magical Creatures teacher, and aside from being very pretty and bubbly, she was just so _cool. _

Her hair was short and artfully wacky, always looking like strong gales had blown through it recently, and I'd never seen her without her pair of massive flying goggles on her forehead. She wore high laced boots that somehow complimented her indigo robes perfectly.

Davies brought his arm up from the grass to wave to her, but I hissed at him and managed to drag it back down before she noticed. He grinned at me, as she disappeared into a doorway. "Hey, if I don't get her to notice you, she never will."

He knew where to stab me sometimes.

He meant well.

I scowled. "Yeah, well, maybe I don't want her to notice me. Have _you _noticed that she is about six years older than me?"

"We've been through this before, _Watson," _Davies smirked.

Once Jacob had accidently pushed me into the Hippogriff paddock; Creeper had tried to charge me and Professor Heartley had to rescue me. She had, however, told me off afterwards, and that was the first time she had called me by my last name.

Davies had made fun of it ever since. Jacob felt eternally guilty.

"Hey," Davies rolled over onto his stomach. "I meant to ask you, who's the creep following you around?"

"You mean Sherlock Holmes?" I frowned. "New Slytherin, Teare asked me to show him around and stuff. He doesn't really follow me around, what gave you that idea?"

Davies' brow furrowed. "No, this guy's a Ravenclaw. Tall, dark hair."

"What?" I was dumbfounded. "Really? Where've you seen him?"

"Well." He picked a blade of dull grass thoughtfully. "A few times. On the platform, he was staring at you while you were on the train, dunno why. And at breakfast the other day."

"Point him out next time?" I suggested, astounded.

"Will do."

"There he is-"

Next morning at breakfast. The owls had just arrived and the Great Hall was a din of laughter, idle chatting and bird screeching.

"Quick, there," Davies hissed, nodding his head down the Gryffindor table. I instantly dropped my toast and whipped my head around, forgetting that this 'creeper' was probably looking at me and would no doubt notice I was staring in his direction.

"Where?" I hissed back, craning my head past the second years chatting over their cereal.

"_There," _he shoved me to get up. "Brown hair, just go, he'll be gone in a second-"

I obediently stood, instantly regretting it as I almost tumbled over backwards. Managing to keep my balance, I staggered out from the table and hurried down to the massive oak doors. I caught sight of what could have been dark Ravenclaw robes disappearing around the corner-

_Damn, _I gritted my teeth and ran as soon as I turned into the hallway. There was something familiar about the figure who was striding away from me, robes flowing, shoes clicking.

_Just call out, can't hurt-_

My voice failed me so I kept running, shoes slapping the ground embarrassingly loudly. I had almost caught up when the Ravenclaw suddenly veered to the right into one of the empty classrooms.

Skidding to a halt, out of breath and realising how unfit for Quiddich I was, I staggered into the classroom after him. _This is probably a bad idea, there was a reason he's been following you, probably wants to steal something-_

"John Watson."

_How the hell did he do that?_

My 'creeper' was sat, delicately poised, in an armchair on the other side of the room next to a dilapidated fireplace, cup of tea in hand. While I caught my breath I looked at him more closely. He was at least a sixth year, with short brown hair and bright eyes. He looked… delighted, there was no other word for it.

"Er," I couldn't think of anything to say. Come to think of it, I wasn't even sure why I ran after him in the first place. _I don't recognise him, and I've been here four years._

"I've wanted to meet you," the boy continued pleasantly, gesturing to the chair opposite him. I sat awkwardly.

Again, I couldn't formulate a reply. It didn't make sense.

"Rather nasty events in the Ministry kept me away yesterday, and your friend seems to think I'm a slight stalker. Thought it would be best to talk to you without his company." he folded one leg onto the other and set the tea down, clasping his hands.

What I wanted to say was _Why are you bothering about Ministry stuff? You're a student._

But was I actually said was

"Um, okay."

I spied a shiny silver Prefect badge on the Ravenclaw's chest.

"Straight to the point, then," he said cheerily and I looked up to his smile. It was a curious smile. "I've been watching you since Sherlock Holmes attached himself to you, and I must say, John, I cannot fathom why he's chosen you."

_Why is it always to do with him?_

"Me neither," I shrugged, deciding to be truthful and blunt. _Attached himself to you. _Had he really? _Sure, he asked for you on the train, but only because Amelia knew you. He talked to you at breakfast. He came into the common room in the early morning to ask you about a herb. _

"I wouldn't say he was attached to me, he hardly knows me or anything," I replied, a little uncomfortable.

He raised both eyebrows. "Surely you can't be serious. When Sherlock even remotely agrees with someone's being, he becomes attached. Have you not noticed this?" Immediately after he said this, he tightened his mouth as if he had just remembered something unpleasant. "And of course, he knows everything about you, how many days have you known him?"

For some reason I didn't want to answer, feeling a squirm of trepidation in my stomach. Something about the way he said it.

"Well there's nothing wrong with him," I said, almost defiantly.

He gave a wry smile and a little laugh. "Could it be that you've decided to trust Sherlock Holmes, of all people?"

I could feel my ears go red. _Yeah, actually, I have. Everyone else seems to have a problem with it._

"Who are you, anyway?" I decided to avoid more questions about Sherlock and go on the attack. "Why d'you care so much about him?"

The boy raised his chin and eyebrow at the same time. "I am really quite curious about you. He would never, ever ask for help when he didn't truly need it."

I gritted my teeth, starting to take a real dislike to this Ravenclaw. "Well if there isn't anything else you want to tell me, I have breakfa-"

"Try and make sure he doesn't get into trouble again," he frowned and stood, twirling a dark umbrella by his side that seemed to have come from nowhere. "I really am worried about him. He hasn't even…" he hesitated. "John, I'm not quite sure you are aware of exactly who he is yet."

I stared at him blankly. "And who exactly is he?"

The Ravenclaw looked at me for a few moments before striding across the room. He disappeared through the door, whistling, before I could get any words out.

_Will someone please tell me what is going on?_


	6. Chapter 6

"They've found him!"

Everyone in the common room looked up from their work, faces of excitement dimly lit by wall candles.

"Where? Did they kill him?" someone cried.

The tall student at the common room entrance arch, wearing a thick floor length black coat with dark blood red fur lining, shook his head but beckoned the other Durmstrang students, striding off into the dark corridor.

I blindly followed as everyone piled into the almost pitch black hallway, not having half an idea where I was going or why. Something in the back of my mind told me something wasn't quite right, and that I didn't belong in Durmstrang, I belonged in Hogwarts, but I ignored it.

The wall of black and red robed students flowed effortlessly through the gloomy castle and out into the extensive grounds. A blast of freezing air instantly pulled my expression into a grimace and I squared my shoulders, instinctively moving closer to other students for warmth. None of them seemed bothered at all.

It was clearly late at night, and all I could decipher using my eyes was that we were surrounded by huge mountains, dim shadows that were just that bit lighter than the inky night sky, presumably due to heavy snow on the tops. The moon was nowhere to be seen.

Suddenly the ground started to crunch against my feet and I looked down, realising with a little dread that we were all stepping across frozen ice. I could feel my shoes sliding on wet patches across the ice, my heartbeat now incredibly irregular.

Someone, a tall someone, was striding across to meet us on the ice. Not that I could see anything in particular in the blackness, and while being terrified I was going to fall to my death in the icy water, I thought I recognised his face.

"What happened to him?"

All the students started talking at once, asking intent questions, faces lit with excitement by the faint light of the tall man's wand. He held a black gloved hand up and silence fell. It was _incredibly_ silent. It had the distinct air of bad news to it.

"We found him in a cave up close to the Mount," the man said quietly, in a deep, gravelly voice that was also distinctly recognisable. "And no, he isn't dead."

Faces fell with disappointment. Turned to anger.

"What did you do with him?" someone cried.

_I'm sure I know him. _

"Sherlock Holmes does not belong to this school anymore," the man growled.

"Where is he going to go?" someone else cried.

"Anywhere away from here." He seemed to crack for a moment, obvious anger threatening to break through.

My heart skipped a beat. _Sherlock Holmes. Doesn't he belong to Hogwarts too though? Wasn't I with him a few days ago? What was he doing all the way over here?_

"His brother is coming to collect him tomorrow. You will not speak-"

There was a collective narrowing of eyes and tightening of jaws.

"You will _not _speak to him, go near him or aggravate him in any way," the man continued sharply, gesturing with his wand. "We all know now how dangerous he is," he added bitterly.

I shivered. _What are they talking about? Is this why Sherlock was expelled from Durmstrang? What did he do?_

Suddenly all the student's faces turned in the faint light to stare at me. I took a step backwards, shocked. They hadn't acknowledged me up until now.

"Er, hello," I stammered.

They didn't reply. There was something haunting about the glaze on their eyes.

"Do not trust Sherlock Holmes," the man whispered, but it was a terrifying loud whisper, as if it was writhing up from the ice itself. The ice began to crack, splinter, freezing water spilling out from underneath my feet-

I opened my eyes.

Instantly sitting up, it took a moment to work out where I was. In the Gryffindor dormitory. Jacob was sprawled on the next bed along, snoring lightly. A few rays of light pooled on the carpet through the window.

My heartbeat was racing, and my breathing was incredibly irregular. I put a hand to my chest, trying to calm myself down. _It was only a dream. Only a dream. You're in Hogwarts._

I looked over to where Jacob and I had bundled Lestrade onto his bed after the previous night. My expression turned to one of steely resolve.

_Whatever happens, I'm going to find out who Sherlock really is._


	7. Chapter 7

"John, wake up."

Blearily, I raised my eyebrows, still half asleep, and grunted with dim recognition.

"John, for god's sake, get up."

"What?" I mumbled, slowly noticing the panicked tone of whoever was standing over my bed.

"Just come down to the Hall, quickly."

By the time I had heaved myself up and rubbed my eyes, whoever was talking to me was gone. In fact, the whole room was deserted, bunks empty, covers thrown back and hastily packed papers in overflowing trunks.

Something was wrong.

Frowning, I tossed back the covers and dressed hastily; with each movement my heart rate increased. My frown deepened as I tried to remember who had woken me up. _Something is definitely wrong._

As I jogged down the stairs from the dormitory, out through the portrait and into the corridors, my fears became more pronounced. There was no one around. Not even a whisper of a ghost. The candles on the walls barely flickered and my shoes made a frighteningly loud noise on the stone floor.

Nervous, I rounded the final corner and almost fell over my own feet in my hurry to get down the stairs. The merciful sound of students reached my ears as I dashed through the huge oak doors and into the Great Hall, expecting to be blissfully ignored as always.

Not this time.

A thousand eyes. A thousand faces. A thousand expressions of confusion, anger, shock, terror and suspicion all turned to stare at me.

For once in my life, every eye was paying attention to me.

_This is not what I wanted it to be like._

Stupidly, I wiped my mouth instinctively, as if all the students in Hogwarts were fixated with me because I had something on my face.

"He doesn't know," someone whispered, but the Hall remained painfully silent.

I could now feel my ears burning as if they had been set alight and my feet rooted to the spot, and I was sure that I would not be able to move if I tried. My heart had stopped all together. _Is it possible to die of embarrassment?_

"What?" I asked hoarsely, even my voice refusing to work. Too many eyes to count. _This is just part of that dream. You'll wake up in a minute._

"Watson, come with me," an arm suddenly dragged me off to the side, and all the faces turned with me, following my stumbling steps all the way across the Hall. A door closed behind me and all the eyes disappeared, yet I felt no relief.

I turned in the small office to see the Headmaster, Professor Ctheiz, sat behind a large mahogany desk, and the man who had dragged me away from those faces, the head of Slytherin House, Professor Vonich, stood next to him. As terrified as I was, I did noticed that both of their expressions were serious. Extremely serious.

_What have I done wrong? _

Neither of them spoke. My eyes flitted over Professor Ctheiz's face, which was lined and ridged with age, his dark eyes hollow. Vonich stood strongly beside the desk, his own eyes glittering.

"There is something we have to tell you, and it may come as a shock," Professor Ctheiz said, surprisingly gently.

I swallowed.

"A student has been killed," he continued. "Early this morning."

I felt like the floor was falling away beneath my feet and I could no longer stand. "Who?" I barely managed to whisper. Thousands of possibilities screeched through my heat, blood roaring in my ears.

"Jacob Jones."

The Headmaster continued talking but the words no longer reached me. I felt like a continuous bucket of ice was being smashed onto my head, over and over again, as if it was trying to crush those two words out of existence.

"No," my voice acted of its own accord, and the Headmaster stopped talking, opening his mouth as if he wasn't sure how to respond.

"No, no," I repeated, trailing off into a whisper. "No."

"We knew you were friends with him, and-"

"How did-?" I croaked.

He paused again, his expression sombre. "He was poisoned."

I was shaking. My legs were shaking, arms, shoulders, head. _Dream, remember, all a dream. Nightmare._

"Why?" I was hardly even aware of the words coming out of my mouth.

"This is why we brought you here, John." Professor Vonich suddenly spoke, with a somewhat grateful tone that we were now on his desired topic of conversation. In my horrified state I couldn't respond. I stood in stunned silence and waited for him to continue.

"We know that Jacob loved Herbology-" hearing his name drove sharp pains into my chest- "and would have never accidentally eaten wolfsbane."

His voice was laced with something I couldn't place- arrogance?

"What's this me got to do with?" I didn't even notice that the words came out in the wrong order until Professor Ctheiz frowned. I choked the words out again. "What's this got to do with me?"

Pause.

"We understand you know the boy Sherlock Holmes."

This conversation was darting all over the place in my head, stabbing each thing it found that it knew would hurt me the most. Jacob Jones, one of my best friends, who I had known for four years and treated like a brother; now, Sherlock Holmes, who I had met four weeks ago but already thought of him as a friend. I wanted this conversation to stop.

"Early this morning, students saw Holmes enter the Forbidden Forest, near the Hippogriff paddock," Vonich continued. _Stop. Just stop talking. _"Jacob Jones accompanied him. Ten minutes later, Holmes re-emerged and crossed to the Lake." He paused. "Jones was not with him."

"He killed him?" I stared blankly at the head of Slytherin.

"We aren't completely sure," the Headmaster replied slowly. "Holmes has also been spotted around the Forest," he paused to cough heavily, "Seemingly searching for something."

Suddenly I thought of something, something that chilled my icy heart even further. I recalled the last conversation I had had with Sherlock Holmes.

"_There isn't any aconite in the supply cabinet, nor in Vonich's office. Is there a specific reason for this or should I go out and collect my own?"_

_I blinked blearily, my brain dimly stirring as I tried to keep up with him. "Sherlock, I don't know who gave you the password, but can you talk to me tomorrow?" I said hoarsely. "I'm tired, I have work." _

_He waved a hand impatiently. "This is more important than your work."_

"Oh god," I rasped hoarsely.

_Aconite is another name for wolfsbane._

"What is it, John?" Professor Ctheiz frowned, looking concerned.

"Have you thought of something?" Vonich added. The tone in his voice was so despisingly excitable that the pool of hatred and confusion and despair bubbled in my stomach.

I made a snap decision.

_Don't tell him._

"It's just so awful," I choked, and that sentence needed no lie. "I… I can't believe it."

Silence for a moment in the tiny office. I couldn't help but notice Vonich's somewhat disappointed expression.

It slowly began to dawn on me what had actually happened. _He's gone._

Something had disappeared inside me, something important and somewhat vital.

_No one close to me like that has ever gone before._

He had always been so shy. Not as cripplingly socially awkward as I was, but he hardly ever started conversations with people he had never met before, and no matter how many times I found him and Davies in the library talking about girls, I never saw him with any.

Another thought hit me. "Where is…" _It feels wrong to call him Sherlock. _"Where is Holmes now? Can I talk to him?"

I wasn't sure what made me add the extra sentence.

To my surprise, although not much else could shock me today, Professor Ctheiz's face scrunched in what looked like embarrassment. "He's not here."

"Where is he?"

"We, er," he coughed again, "don't know."

"You don't _know?" _I gaped.

"He escaped," Vonich said shortly, cutting off the Headmaster. "We believe he may have tried to return to his previous school."

"Can't you catch him?" I said, dismayed, not even sure how my voice was still working. I realised my legs were still shaking.

The two Professors exchanged a glance.

I took that as a no.

"I don't want to go back out there," I said shakily, gesturing to the door behind me.

Professor Ctheiz looked relieved at the change of topic. "Of course not," he said, trying to be comforting. "You can go through this door-" he nodded to the oaken door to the right of his desk.

I started to stumble toward the door, just wanting to leave this office and that conversation behind.

"I'm sorry for your loss," Vonich suddenly said irritably. I glanced at him and mustered up the energy to nod blankly.

"The funeral will be on Tuesday, John," Professor Ctheiz added more gently. "You are excused from lessons until then, and I will inform the students to give you time to grieve. Hunter is also excused."

_I need to talk to Davies._

"Thank you," I muttered in reply. With one last glance to the two teachers, I opened the other door and walked shakily into the blissfully deserted corridor beyond.

.

I'm so so so sorry it's taken me so long to update this. Thank you to all the wonderful people who read this, and I hope this lateness hasn't put you off. I'm so busy with exams and everything at the moment.

Hope you like this chapter anyway.


	8. Chapter 8

ONE MONTH LATER

I tried to hide it in the day time, in lesson time, because I don't like the stares people give me in the corridors. I told myself to walk, stride as if I was brave. As if I knew that mourning outwardly would not bring him back.

The funeral had been difficult. Davies, of course, stood, regal and suitably sombre, in his smartly fitted black robes, shedding two tears throughout the whole procession. Me, stumbling behind the elegant coffin in slightly tatty grey robes that were too big for me, trying to cover my face during the piercingly long walk to where our best friend would be buried. People stared.

Davies and I had another long, long walk the next day. I can't really remember much, we drank a bit, but we talked about Jacob. I've heard people say that it's only in times of hardship you see people's true character, and Davies surprised me a little. As much as I knew he was proud and collected on the outside, arrogant too, he wasn't much different now. I had wondered if he would show how much he really had cared for his best friend, let out his emotions unfiltered. But I wasn't sure he did. Sure, he cried when we talked, but it wasn't an uncontrollable pain. Like mine.

I felt ashamed at how the pain was still there.

I could see Jacob's face in my mind, still pin sharp and vivid, looking at me with curious eyebrows half raised. His bottomless eyes looked sad, and glancing at Davies with approval. His eyes didn't seem to approve of me.

I should be brave and fearless and strong. I was in Gryffindor, after all.

_Wrong house._

"You look like you need something stronger than tea today. Here."

A bottle of butterbeer floated gracefully down onto the knotted, gnarled table in front of me. I sighed gratefully as I took it, the cool glass refreshing my palm. "I didn't think teachers were allowed to give students this," I said doubtfully.

Professor Heartley gave a wry smile and winked, turning back to the three wooden bowls lined up on the counter. "We're not, but I suppose you're an exception."

I wasn't quite sure how it happened. After the funeral, she had invited me back for a cup of tea (it didn't taste like ordinary tea but it was as good as) and had sat there in silence as I stared blankly into my mug. We hardly talked. She didn't seem to mind, though, and it was only the next day that I remembered I had a slight teacher crush. I wasn't exactly sure how I felt.

I still wasn't sure how I felt. It had been a month since the first time I'd visited her small cottage on the edge of the grounds and now it was at least once a week. We were friends now, I think, but I wasn't sure what kind of friendship it was. I didn't like thinking in terms of friendships anymore.

"Did Professor Ctheiz give you permission to go?" I asked, as she flicked her wand. Spoons started to stir the mixtures in the bowls.

"I haven't asked him yet," she looked a little sheepish. Her cheeks flushed a little crimson, and it matched the bright scarlet robes she was wearing today. There was the familiar echo of her large combat boots on the wooden floor as she walked to the sink.

"Why not?"

"I don't think he'll let me anyway."

"We've been through this," I scowled. "You might as well ask him. At least then he'll know that you want to leave."

Have I mentioned the coolest part about her yet?

She has a dream to be a hot air balloon pilot.

"But what good will that do?" she sighed; flicking her wand again and the bowls lifted off the counter and tipped their contents into one another.

"You never know what he'll say until you ask him."

She glanced at me with doubtful eyes. I was again reminded that she wasn't much older than me.

"But they'll need to find a replacement Care for Magical Creatures teacher," she continued, as if we hadn't had this conversation before. "I'd have to leave Vinny and Daisy, no one can look after them like I do."

Oh yeah, she has unicorns too.

"We've been through this," I repeated, not really sure what else to say.

"And who says I'll get into the pilot school anyway?" she asked absently, beginning to manually stir the mixture in the bowl.

I gritted my teeth. "You will, you've wanted to do this since you were born, yes?"

It was her turn to scowl. "Any luck?"

I hated it when people change the subject so quickly like that, I can never recover enough.

"Um, no," I replied a little shakily. I tried to look around her little kitchen in an attempt to shake the subject off, glancing between the rusty-hinged cupboards and the rare sunlight pooling on the floorboards near her feet.

"Well you need to get somewhere with it," she frowned, looking a little concerned.

I could deal with people staring at me every day, I just hid and pretended I didn't notice. I could deal with this eventually.

But there was still the issue of Sherlock Holmes.

I still couldn't believe that he had escaped capture. There were so many good Aurors in the Ministry, at least if the wild stories in the Prophet were to be believed, and so many good teachers in Hogwarts that could be looking for him. Because everyone had decided that he was the culprit.

I remembered the buzz in the Gryffindor common room just afterwards.

'_I think it was him.'_

'_Well it definitely was, did you see the way he was talking to Jones? Really dodgy if you ask me.'_

'_You weren't even there.'_

'_Yeah but people have been talking. Like I heard that guy comes from a really weird family. Like, really weird. His brother is-'_

'_A Muggle law enforcer? Yeah, I heard that too.'_

'_Well I heard he's a dragon keeper.'_

'_I thought he worked in some sort of making-place? You know, the ones where they make Muggle objects. Umbrellas, I think they're called.'_

'_Well I don't like the way this whole thing is getting covered up. We have a right to know what happened. Jones was in our house.'_

'_It was Holmes, I just know it.'_

'_He didn't have any friends, I knew he was dangerous.'_

'_Well he did, sort of, right?'_

'_You mean the Watson boy?'_

I had stopped listening and gone back up the stairs to bed at that point.

I had tried not to think about it too much but it was impossible not to. Everything pointed to him. Even now, my brain was desperately trying to figure out a way he was innocent and everyone was wrong. It just wasn't happening.

I still couldn't think of a reason why he'd do it.

That was the only thing holding that sliver of hope there in my head.

"Are they still looking for him?" Professor Heartley frowned.

"I don't know. I think they've given up," I sighed, taking a sip of my butterbeer.

"You should look for him." she looked at me pointedly.

"Me?" I answered, shocked. "I can't find my shoes in the morning, let alone a Durmstrang student on the run."

I suddenly remembered that dream I'd had a few months ago. Obviously it was only a dream. But it made me wonder yet again what Sherlock Holmes had done to get himself kicked out of the roughest magical school in the world. You didn't just get expelled for nothing, is what we heard.

"Well you knew him better than anyone else did," she continued.

"No, I didn't know him at all," I snapped, tightening my grip on the bottle.

She glanced at me with slightly worried eyes. "Okay, you didn't know him."

"Sorry," I sighed again. "I just… Want to know the truth about it."

"Well I think you know if it's true or not," she replied simply.

I examined the label on the bottle thoughtfully. _Did I? _

_She's right, I need to talk to him. But how? How on earth do I find him?_


	9. Chapter 9

Over the next week, things got more serious at Hogwarts. We had always known that Professor Ctheiz was old, really old, but we'd never really thought of him dying before. Soon he stopped appearing at the head table for breakfast, and then dinner. By early December he had all but disappeared from the school. No one explicitly told us what was going on, but we all guessed he was ill and was probably not going to recover.

This didn't upset me as much as it could. After the events of this awful school year so far, I wasn't sure my emotions could handle being sad about another person's death.

However, there was the issue of who would become Headmaster after him.

It was no secret that Professor Vonich had his eyes on Ctheiz's desk. There was also no particular reason why he shouldn't become Headmaster after him; he was one of the senior teachers of the school and had always been on Ctheiz's good side.

Not that this particularly mattered to me. I hadn't ever liked Vonich, and he scared me a bit to be honest, but I didn't really care anymore.

Other students did, though, and I was grateful for the change of topic in conversation. It meant that at least I did not feature in rumours anymore. Almost.

There were still the odd looks when I sat down for breakfast. I'd still sit next to Davies whenever he was around, but today Amelia was sitting on her own so I plonked myself down next to her.

"Good morning," I yawned, reaching for the jam.

"Morning," she replied a little stiffly, not diverting her gaze from the toast in front of her.

This wasn't new behaviour to me, she hadn't really been around much since it happened. I had a suspicion that she was dealing with the same demons I had, in that her friend had been accused of murder.

There was somewhat of an awkward silence.

"D'you think he would really do it?" she asked suddenly, frowning and staring down into her toast.

This was one of the first times she had even brought the topic of Sherlock Holmes and Jacob Black up with me. I was somewhat surprised but tried not to act it.

"I don't know," I replied carefully, half honestly. I was suddenly scared that she was talking about something else. "You mean Holmes?"

She nodded, still avoiding my gaze. "He was many things but he wasn't a killer," she added, somewhat shakily.

_Killer. _Hearing that word out loud made it seem absurd.

I thought about that for a moment. I still wasn't sure how well Amelia had actually known him, but she spoke quite fondly of him and he seemed to have trusted her. Suddenly, I wondered if she'd been questioned by the Aurors who had come to the school the week it had happened.

"D'you have any idea where he's gone?" I asked suddenly.

"Sherlock?" Amelia finally looked at me, with eyebrows raised. "No, I have no idea. I don't know why he's hiding, he's innocent."

"Why did you ask me? If he'd do it or not. You seem pretty sure," I frowned, wiping the knife on the side of my plate.

"I just wanted to hear your opinion," she shrugged. "He took a liking to you, I still don't know why. I thought maybe it was because you trusted him. Evidently not."

I stared, dumbfounded, into my plate. I recalled a certain conversation with a certain tall dark haired Ravenclaw a few months ago. I hadn't really seen him around since, and still had no idea who he was. He had said something about Sherlock Holmes taking a liking to me as well. _Something is going on here. _

"Can you do me a favour?" Amelia put her cutlery down and looked at me.

I glanced at her warily. "Depends?"

"Can you come with me to his room?" she asked nervously.

"Who's room?" I asked, confused_._

"Sherlock's."

"He had a room?" I replied blankly.

"Apparently some of the Slytherins have rooms to themselves. I want to see his one." Amelia had that determined look on her face. But she'd never asked me to come with her on any of her adventures before, even though I'd always tag along of my own accord. _Is she scared? Amelia, scared? This hasn't happened before._

"Haven't they cleared it out or anything? And how are you going to even get in there?" I frowned doubtfully.

"I talked to Gabriel, he told me where it is. And the password." I noticed a faint red flush to her cheeks.

"You _talked _to a Slytherin? And he just happened to give you the password?" I crossed my arms.

She scowled. "Well you know he's had a crush on me for years. I let him kiss me a bit."

"You let him kiss you a _bit?_" I hissed incredulously. "Did you kiss him back?"

"That doesn't matter," she snapped. "Whatever, I'll do it without you-"

"No, no, I want to come," I instinctively reached for her arm as she stood, looking irritated. "When d'you want to go?"

"Now," she shrugged, glancing at me with doubt as if she still didn't trust me.

"Okay, let's go," I stood hastily, and she smirked and strode back down towards the massive oak doors at the end of the Hall. I stumbled on my robes as I followed her, ignoring the giggles from the Hufflepuff table and the smirks from the Slytherins.

Five minutes later we were in the deepest bowels of the castle, hurrying (I wasn't sure why we were hurrying) down a long dank corridor, our shoes slapping uncomfortably loudly on the stagnant layer of water on the stone floor. My heartbeat was no longer in time with my running, as it was beating also uncomfortably loudly against my chest.

I had never even thought about Sherlock being in Slytherin. I hadn't wondered if he'd made any friends, where his dormitory was. I was sure he had never even slept during his brief stay at Hogwarts. Now, though, I was striving with curiosity.

"Are you sure no one has cleaned it out or anything?" I panted as we skidded to a stop outside an unpleasant looking mahogany door.

Amelia shook her head. "The Aurors had a quick look but they didn't find anything important," she replied hoarsely.

"What makes you think you will, then?" I frowned.

She didn't answer. "_Stoermer Vonich," _she said to the door, and it swung open inwards.

I raised my eyebrows. "Is he seriously that arrogant? Giving his own name as the password?"

Amelia shrugged as she ducked under the low overhang and entered the Slytherin common room. "Apparently it was the Slytherin's way of voting for who they thought should become Headmaster."

I was relieved to see that the common room was empty- it was a surprisingly beautiful room, actually. It was underneath the lake, it seemed, and massive floor to ceiling windows allowed everything to be bathed in an eerie emerald glow. I could see small shoals of silvery fish scatter past the windows, and as I walked up to the glass, I shivered as I caught sight of my own reflection. It was stunningly peaceful down here, gazing up at the shimmering surface of the lake through the windows. All the furniture was neatly ordered into small booths on the left wall, and dark bottle green leather arm chairs lay dotted about in circles around the large space in the middle of the room.

"They must all be down at breakfast," I mused. Amelia nodded but didn't reply, heading straight for another arched doorway to the right.

"_Lumos," _I whispered as we left the emerald lit room and proceeded down what I presumed was one of the dormitory corridors. It was a gloomier place than the actual common room, with dim, murkier green faint glows from the strange candles on the walls and a distinct prison feel to it.

"This must be it," she murmured, stopping at one of the doors. There was a small piece of parchment stuck just above the handle and I peered to see what was written on it. _SH. Do not enter._

"I guess so." Suddenly I really, really didn't want to go in. I wasn't sure what I was expecting- _maybe a few more dead bodies- _but I knew that this could possibly prove whether he was innocent or not.

_Surely the Aurors would have found anything important by now. There will be nothing in there._

"It's locked," Amelia frowned as she tried the handle. "_Alohomora_." The door didn't budge.

However, Amelia as always was very resourceful, and wasn't going to give up easily. Taking a pin out of her hair, she set to work the Muggle way.

Eventually she nodded, satisfied, as there was a resounding click and the door swung open. My heart was thumping against my chest.

For a few moments I was terrified that there _were _dead bodies on the bed- but they were just piles of bed covers. Relieved, I took a few quick glances around the small room.

The ceiling was quite high; like in all of the Slytherin areas we had been in, and the walls were a sort of morbid grey and the floor just the bare stonework. As for the furniture, there was a large mahogany book case on the back wall, a sort of pale sofa in the alcove on the right and the bed on the left wall. The book case was left empty, but it was clear where all the books had gone- they were strewn around the small room, acting as a kind of carpet. Torn out pages littered everywhere, and stacks of parchments and scrolls lay piled on top of the bed covers. The fireplace had been covered up with piles and piles of books and papers. I reeled back in shock as I looked up to face a human skull on the mantelpiece.

"Is it real?" I asked shakily. Amelia had been looking in the other corner of the room and came over to see what I was talking about. She nodded, not seeming surprised.

She didn't seem that concerned about a human skull being on the mantelpiece of a suspected killer.

I motioned towards it, not being able to find the words to express my fear.

"Oh no, he's had that for years," she said hastily. "I think that's what he made the deal with my brother about. I'm not sure."

"How come the Aurors didn't take it then?" I narrowed my eyes at the skull as if it had done me a personal wrongdoing.

"I don't know. It's not important, probably," she said, almost sarcastically. Again, I wondered why she'd even brought me here.

"I wonder what all these books were for," I said, bending down to pick one up. I leafed through it. My heart skipped a beat as I realised what the book was. "Look," I said shakily. "It's about poisons."

She grabbed it off me and stared at the cover and swallowed. While she was stood gazing at it as if she'd never seen a book before, I walked back over to the mantelpiece.

Above the shelf on the mirror was a sort of collage of bits of papers, maps and seemingly random paragraphs of different books, all stuck to the mirror with small pieces of a malleable blue substance. I took a piece off the mirror curiously.

"That's blue tac," Amelia said, looking relieved at an excuse to put the poisons book down. "It's what Muggles use to hang things up on walls."

I looked back up to all the papers stuck to the mirror. "What d'you think this is all about?"

"It looks like he was on one of his cases," Amelia said thoughtfully.

"Cases?" I was confused.

She met my gaze. "Didn't he tell you about them? He solves things."

_Well actually, that's what I've been trying to tell everyone, we only had about three conversations, which wasn't really enough time to tell each other anything. _

"Like what?"

She hesitated. "He used to do it a lot in Durmstrang. Whenever someone beat up someone else, or hurt someone, or stole anything, or damaged something, the teachers would ask Sherlock to find out who the culprit was. He was very good at it."

I thought back to our conversation at breakfast.

"_My methods aren't what you call… conventional." _

_It took me a few moments to realise what Sherlock had said. "Conventional? What do you mean, methods?" I replied nervously, swiping the knife across my toast again. _

"_Well, you might get in trouble, that's all," he said, in a matter of fact way. _

And back to the conversation with the strange Ravenclaw.

"_Try and make sure he doesn't get into trouble again," he frowned and stood, twirling a dark umbrella by his side that seemed to have come from nowhere. "I really am worried about him. He hasn't even…" he hesitated. "John, I'm not quite sure you are aware of exactly who he is yet."_

Well I think I had a better idea of who he was now. I stared angrily at the poison book in Amelia's hands.

"Isn't that your book?" Amelia exclaimed, sounding shocked. She was pointing at the mantelpiece.

My second year Book of Potions was indeed sat on the shelf above the fire, atop an ungraceful pile of papers. I reached for it, stunned.

It looked different. In a hurried looking scrawl, the word 'Potions' from the title had been scribbled out, replaced with the word 'IDEAS'.

"Book of Ideas," Amelia read out, dumbfounded. "What was he doing with your book? I thought you'd thrown this away."

"I'd left it in the dungeons," I flipped the book over in my hands, confused.

"_And your Potions book is under the scales cabinet in the dungeons," he called lazily over his shoulder. _

I flicked through the pages. My thoughts jumbled together and I couldn't piece it all together anymore.

"I remember this," Amelia suddenly smirked. "You used it as a sort of diary, didn't you?Until you burnt right through it with Draught of Living Death."

"Yeah," I said absently. "But what's he doing with it? Why would he want it?"

He had obviously used it quite a bit, the pages being ruffled and some torn. Inbetween the lines of text I'd written little notes on what had happened that day, yeah, sort of like a diary. I wasn't in to keeping formal diaries but the start of our second year had been quite emotionally eventful so it was nice to write short thoughts down on things that had happened. I think I'd presumed no one would ever be interested in looking at a second year's Potions book.

I felt suddenly violated, as if he was now able to read my thoughts. As I read through the little notes I'd jotted down, I became more and more uncomfortable in knowing that he'd read them. It was things like

_Davies was being irritating today, he was picking on Jacob again. I wish he'd give him a break, it's not his fault his parents can't afford new robes for him. _

And

_Vonich is such an awful teacher. I know Potions teachers are never supposed to be very nice but he takes it to another level. He 'accidentally' nudged Gabriel today so he knocked over Amelia's cauldron. Her almost finished potion went all over the floor and he made her clean it up._

And perhaps more embarrassingly,

_We had our first Care of Magical Creatures lesson today, a year early! I really like the teacher, Professor Heartley, she's so nice. I was talking to her for a few minutes at the end and she was telling me about how she wants to become a hot air balloon pilot. That's so cool. I hope she stays at Hogwarts._

The hurried scrawl was back on the pages again, circling and underlining certain notes and words. I flicked further on in the book, and got to the page on Aconite.

_Also known as Wolfsbane, _I'd written down next to the title. _Poisonous._

I saw a scribbled sentence next to my own notes that chilled me to the bone.

_Enough to kill a human?_

"Look," I croaked, gesturing the book to Amelia, and she stared at it.

I didn't want to read anymore. My heart didn't feel like it was beating anymore. I looked at Amelia helplessly. _The poisons books, the notes in this, him asking for aconite. It all adds up._

"I'm going for a walk," I muttered hoarsely, blindly stumbling out of the door of Sherlock's room and back into the corridor. Amelia didn't follow.


	10. Chapter 10

I was halfway across the grounds of the castle when I realised I still had my old Potions book in my hand.

It was starting to snow- small whispers of white beginning to fall from the dome of heavy sky above my head. The air was frosty, cold, but not uncomfortably so, it was rather refreshing. No one was outside, as they were probably all still having breakfast, and the gently sloping grass and the edge of the Forest was incredibly peaceful. My heart rate began to calm down and I realised how upset I felt.

I instinctively started to wander over to Professor Heartley's small cottage, nestled in amongst the blanket covering of bracken close to the Forest's edge. But I couldn't spot the usual smoke coming from her chimney, showing she was in, so I turned back, as the snow began to fall more heavily.

Walking slowly and somewhat shakily into the huge shadowed trees of the Forbidden Forest, I opened the Potions book again in my hand. I could suddenly feel a little thought trying to tell me something, something that would link this all together and make it seem right.

_What seems wrong about it?_

_Well isn't it obvious?_

_Sherlock didn't kill anyone._

I halted. Staring down at the little scribbles next to my own writing, it seemed strange to finally comprehend that.

_He didn't kill anyone. He's not a killer._

The more I looked at his writing the more it made sense. It seemed so painfully obvious now that I actually hit myself over the head with the book in my hands, cursing under my breath.

_He was looking for the killer, you idiot. _

_He was probably talking to Jacob for some other reason._

_Maybe Jacob knew something was going on?_

_Who killed him then?_

I realised I had started walking again, at a furiously fast pace and now I was in amongst the giant, gnarled roots of the vast trees. I stopped trying to fit everything together in my head, I'd been doing that too much and it hadn't worked so well so far.

_Where is he then? Like Amelia said, why is he hiding if he's innocent?_

I shook my head in an attempt to clear my thoughts. My heart was thumping against my chest as if I'd just run a marathon.

Looking up into the gloomy branches of the canopy that blocked out the snowy sky, I shivered. There seemed to be a black sack of some sort hanging over one of the forks in the trees. Striding closer, I frowned up at it.

I caught sight of a pale hand, dangling limply from black robes.

I staggered back in shock. _It's…it's a…_

I couldn't bring myself to say it. Blood roared in my ears. Clenching my jaw, I forced myself to look up again.

Not much was visible. It was a student, that much was clear, although the robes were badly torn and the Hogwarts crest barely detectable. The black robes were even darker than black in some places, where the blood seemed to have spread, and the pale flesh that _was _visible was caked in crimson, gleaming in the half light of the forest.

_It's fresh._

I couldn't see the main wounds that were the source of all the blood, for this I was grateful. A steady stream of the dark liquid dribbled from the high branch and onto the forest floor near my feet. I felt like I was going to be sick. I felt guilty that I hoped it wasn't anyone else I knew.

"Watson, what are you-" a voice snapped from behind me. Then a sharp intake of breath.

I whirled around. Professor Vonich stood a few feet away from me, staring up at the body in the trees, his mouth slightly open. I had no idea what to say.

He then snapped his cold eyes back to me and narrowed his gaze. "What happened?"

"I was…" I hesitated. The Forest was out of bounds to students. "I was collecting herbs for Professor Teare for our Transfiguration lesson." I was surprised to find that my voice hardly shook. "I found this just before you got here," I motioned my head slightly to the dark shadow up above.

He narrowed his snakelike eyes even further, looking extremely suspicious. I remembered that I was supposedly the friend of a murderer.

"Come with me, Watson, back to the Castle. We will see if your story is correct or not," he snarled, taking one more somewhat disgusted look at the student's limp body, his hawk like gaze following the steady stream of blood to the ground. He jerked his head back up towards Hogwarts and, rather worryingly, he took out his wand from his robes, gesturing for me to walk in front of him.

Despite just having discovered a fellow student's body in the Forbidden Forest, dripping in blood, I felt a surge of anger and narrowed my eyes, tempted to draw my own wand just to show I wasn't scared.

Thinking that was probably a bad idea, instead I squared my shoulders, clutching the Potions book even more tightly and raising my chin defiantly, and strode away from the blood seeping through the forest floor, back in the direction of the castle. I could hear an irritated flick of robes behind me then footsteps following mine.

On the walk back up, I quickly ran through possibilities. My first thought was some kind of animal, but I didn't really know what else lived in the Forest, except unicorns, and I didn't think unicorns could do that sort of damage to a person, and stick them up a tree. I remembered something about the cats that live in the Muggle world, called jaguars, I think, and they would put their prey up a tree to come back and find it later.

_So maybe it'll come back?_

I didn't mention this to Professor Vonich, who was still solidly striding behind me, as I could feel his angry eyes on my back and was sure his wand was pointed at me. Snow was still falling but I ignored it.

I was feeling strangely calm about everything, my heart rate had gone back to almost normal and blood wasn't rushing around inside my head anymore. Neither were manic thoughts.

I knew I wouldn't be able to figure out this whole thing, and I knew no one else would be able to either. Professor Ctheiz was probably not even here so he couldn't help.

_We need Sherlock back._

I jogged up the stone steps into the courtyard, no longer caring if Vonich was following me or not.

_I have to get away from him._

"Professor, is there a particular reason you are pointing your wand at John here?" a voice said mildly from one of the arches.

I turned to look. It was the tall Ravenclaw Prefect who had talked to me about Sherlock earlier in the year, who I hadn't seen since Sherlock's disappearance.

Vonich was indeed pointing his wand rather viciously at my back, and I clenched my jaw.

The Ravenclaw stepped forward, the umbrella swinging gracefully at his side. Vonich glanced doubtfully at it as the Prefect strode confidently across the courtyard to meet us.

"Professor Ctheiz sent me to take young John from your-" he frowned slightly at Vonich's raised wand, "-capable care and bring him up to his office."

Vonich narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "I thought you were working in the Ministry now, Holmes?" He didn't lower his wand.

_Holmes?_

_What?_

The Ravenclaw raised his chin slightly but didn't answer. "You can lower your wand, Professor." It distinctly sounded like a threat, and to my surprise, Vonich did indeed lower his wand, eyes still narrowed.

The student gave a curt nod then gripped me by the arm, steering me away into the corridor beyond. I took a quick glance back to see Vonich stood awkwardly in the centre of the courtyard, clutching his wand and looking extremely irritated.

"Who are-" I started to say blankly, as we rushed with some sort of urgency down the corridor.

"Oh come now John, Sherlock did like you, so you must have some sort of brain in there," the student frowned slightly at me, still gripping my arm tightly. "I am Sherlock's brother, Mycroft. Pleased to meet you."

"You're his _bro-" _I gaped at him and he cut me off again.

"There isn't any time to explain anything," he said shortly. He led me into one of the empty classrooms and closed the door.

"What happened in the Forest?" he looked at me carefully, as if I was going to suddenly collapse or do something reckless.

"Why do you want to know?" I held my gaze steady, trying not to blink. I wasn't quite sure why I didn't trust him.

To my surprise, he gave a little laugh. "Fine, I already know anyway. Thought you might want to tell me."

I didn't know what to say so just held my gaze.

"By all accounts, this has gone far enough," he was serious again. "My brother is needed, I can see that. We shall have to fetch him and put him out of his misery."

I tilted my head slightly. "You know where he is? And you're not taking me to Professor Ctheiz?"

"Certainly not," he answered, looking surprised. "I trust you have Disapparated before?"

"You can't Disapparate inside Hogwarts," I said automatically.

"No matter if you haven't, I assure you, it is not painful, mainly mildly uncomfortable. Please take care not to be sick over my umbrella, this is an antique." Mycroft Holmes smiled slightly, although it didn't reach his eyes.

Before I could even open my mouth to reply, Mycroft gripped my arm again and everything disappeared into a violent whirl of colour. My body felt like it was being aggressively stretched in every direction and I gasped with the pain, as invisible ropes began to squeeze my stomach in and invisible books smashed against my head-

"Here we are. At least you didn't leave anything behind," Mycroft sounded quite cheery.

The pain had stopped, but the world hadn't stopped spinning. I staggered to my feet, trying to work out what just happened and where I was.

"Don't be sick on the carpet, either, Mummy was always quite fond of that."

Putting a hand on a nearby cabinet to steady myself, I realised we had just Apparated into a small but somehow spacious room. I didn't recognise it as anywhere from Hogwarts.

_How the hell did we just do that?_

"Where are-" I asked hoarsely.

"This is my house, John, please keep up, we don't have all day," Mycroft frowned, twirling his umbrella and miraculously not hitting anything. He strode to the oaken doorway and poked his head around.

"Sherlock!" he called. "_Sherlock!" _he yelled louder, and tutted to himself.

My heart skipped a beat. _Sherlock's here? In his own house?_

A great clattering sound came from somewhere deep within the house, as if something heavy had been knocked over. The sound continued, coming closer to the room and eventually stopping, then footsteps. Then a voice.

"Mycroft, what are you-"

Mycroft jerked his head towards me, then stepped out of the way of the door.

Sherlock Holmes stood in the doorway and met my gaze.


	11. Chapter 11

He looked unwell. For the few weeks he had been at Hogwarts Sherlock had always looked bright eyed and eager. I'd never seen him sleep; but neither had I noticed any effects from his lack of it.

But now his eyes looked more angrily deranged than bright, his stance rather more desperate. His hair was unwashed and extremely messy, and I was fairly sure he hadn't changed his clothes in a while.

I didn't want to speak.

"What are you doing here?" His voice somewhat scared me. It was hoarse and croaky, as if he hadn't spoken in weeks. His tone was aggressive.

"I'll leave you to explain, John," Mycroft said cheerily, and left the room.

"Explain what?" Sherlock glared at me with such ferocity that I almost took a step backwards. I held my ground.

"I'm- I'm not sure," I admitted, cursing my voice for failing.

Silence.

_Explain what happened. Come on, talk!_

"I found a body in the Forest," I began, clenching my jaw. "Of another student. It looked like an animal had done it." As I continued the thoughts in my head began to gradually order themselves. "Your brother seemed to think it is time for you to return to Hogwarts."

"And you agree with him?" I observed that there seemed to be a battle going on in Sherlock's mind, as if he didn't understand something. He leant on the doorway as if to steady himself. _No wonder, he looks really ill._

"Well, yeah," I frowned and paused. "You were working it out, weren't you?"

"You don't think I killed him?" Sherlock looked utterly shocked.

I opened my mouth to reply, then closed it. _Well you don't, do you?_

"No," I answered. A sudden chill went through me. _What if you're wrong? What if he did?_

"No, I don't," I repeated, more firmly.

There was a moment of silence, and I wanted nothing more than to know what was going through Sherlock's head. His expression was impossible to read.

"I thought…" His throaty voice cracked and he coughed, leaning more heavily against the doorframe. "I thought you of all people."

I knew what he meant. Because I had been one of Jacob's best friends.

"No," I said again. I decided not to mention my moments of doubt after the event.

He seemed to shake himself out of his apparent surprise. "Well then. I presume you are not here to try and arrest me then?" One of his half smiles materialised, but seemed to cause him a little pain.

_What kind of life has he had over the past few weeks? _

A sudden urge to move forward and hug him struck me, seeing that smile. "No," was the only thing I managed to say, yet again. "You look ill," I added.

"Ah," he said grimly. "I've been bored."

I didn't really want to know what that meant. I decided to go straight for it.

"So do you know who did it?"

"Of course," he looked mildly offended. "That book was of great help, thank you." He gestured towards the Potions book I was still clutching in my hand. I didn't reply, waiting for him to continue, my heart racing again.

"This might be a little difficult for you," Sherlock said awkwardly, as if he'd never had to deal with other's emotions before.

"Go on," I croaked, as the worst thoughts span through my head.

"Professor Rachel Heartley, your Care of Magical Creatures teacher, killed Jacob and no doubt the unfortunate student you found in the Forest." His voice was now perfectly steady, as if saying the words out loud gave him mental strength.

I couldn't handle all these developments.

I had barely any time to breathe before he continued. "My brother has been keeping an eye on this case for some time but very much needed my help. He will be glad to wrap this one up, I'm sure."

"But…" I struggled for words. "She was…"

"Nice?" Sherlock frowned irritably. "Yes, that's what Jacob told me. Said she would never do anything bad to anyone."

Instantly my mind went back to those lovely rainy afternoons spent in Professor Heartley's little cottage on the grounds. Her excellent baking. Her wonderful ambitions to be a pilot, her lovely unique dress sense.

It all seemed rather unreal now.

"How?" I croaked, hoping he would understand my question.

Sherlock looked at me and again, I couldn't read his expression. Just those piercing eyes, looking a little brighter than when I'd first seen them today.

"The first clue was Professor Vonich's potions store cupboard," he began. "I noticed that aconite, otherwise known as wolfsbane, was missing. Your Potions master seemed to have quite a stock of everything else, so it would be highly unlikely he had simply ran out. And aconite is extremely poisonous to humans if it enters the bloodstream, so not many students would need it in their potions classes." He didn't pause for breath. "Of course, I had already found your book in the dungeons, and read through it thoroughly. Your notes-" I swallowed, a little embarrassed- "suggested very much that your Headmaster was not going to last much longer. When he departed, his position would be left open for the Board of Governors to choose a new one."

"So-" I started, but Sherlock gave a little frown, indicating for me not to interrupt. I closed my jaw.

"From what I had learnt about the Hogwarts teachers so far, there was no extremely obvious candidate. The would-be Headmaster or Headmistress would have to impress the Board of Governors enough for them to decide.

"So I started doing a little more research. It is quite startling how much students gossip in the corridors and what can be learnt from this. It seemed that Professor Vonich was emerging as the favourite to take over Ctheiz. All cases need a solid starting point so I looked up backgrounds. It was easy. The records in the library, all the competitions and tournaments and leagues from around fifteen years ago, all seemed to suggest that when Heartley and Vonich had been at school, they were the top two students. However, comments also seemed to suggest that they hated each other and were determined to outdo each other in everything. So I had my suspicions- however, I still had no evidence that either Professor had used or stolen the aconite, nor what they were actually planning."

"She killed Jacob to become Headmaster?" I asked blankly, no longer being able to keep my comments silent. Sherlock frowned again. "And how did you even guess she wanted to?"

He sighed through his nose. "Because I have seen this type of case before."

"At Durmstrang?"

"Yes."

"What happened?" I asked warily.

"That case was a little simpler than this one. A slightly deranged Dark Arts Professor plotting to murder the existing Headmaster and take his place." He waved a hand absently. "The motive principal was the same. There is always at least one person prepared to do anything to get power."

"But Professor Heartley?" I said blankly, still not quite believing it. "She really didn't seem like the kind of person-"

"That was the beauty of it. No one would ever look twice at her when considering possible killers." He waved a hand again. "She hated Vonich, and I mean _really _hated him. She would never be able to live with the shame of him becoming Headmaster in her own school, and her being stuck with her post of Care of Magical Creatures. No, she would have to impress the Board far beyond him. I was certain that she would have a good knowledge of aconite, considering the curriculum contains werewolves. But what was she planning to do?

"To get more answers I decided I would have to start asking questions. I had kept everything quiet until then, because I didn't want trouble stirring before my investigation began in earnest. The first person I decided to go to was your friend, Jacob Jones. I knew he had an interest in magical plants and, indeed, magical creatures, so he seemed like a good place to start. However, I had no desire for anyone else to overhear our conversation so after I asked him politely if I could have a word, we walked onto the grounds, near the Forest."

He finally paused.

I glanced around the room, processing what Sherlock had said so far. The bookshelves that lined the walls looked dusty, the large armchairs in the corner unused.

"As soon as I expressed my light suspicions about Professor Heartley, he became rather uncooperative." Sherlock clenched his jaw. "He said that she was a 'lovely person', 'would never hurt anyone' and 'wouldn't want power'." He paused again. "Out of sight of the Castle, we were attacked by a Thestral."

"A what?" I looked blankly at him.

"A Thestral, John." Sherlock looked rather irritated that he would have to explain something else to me. "They look like a cross between a giant bat and a horse. They live in the Forest."

"Oh."

"Instantly I could tell that there was something not quite right. Thestrals are usually very docile creatures if treated right. They never normally attack humans. This particular one seemed very out of control. It seemed to have difficulty flying in the direction it wanted to, as if something was holding it back. It's eyes were terrified and movements erratic. It was not difficult for Jacob and I to dodge its attacking dives.

"Soon enough the reasoning behind this became obvious. Professor Heartley emerged from the trees and killed Jacob with a well-placed Killing Curse. The short conversation which followed made her intentions very clear."

Hearing a repeat of how Jacob had died, whatever the reason, made my eyes itch. I willed myself desperately not to cry. _Not now. _

"Her original plan had been quite simple," Sherlock's eyes were gleaming. "It had been to put a Thestral under the Imperius Curse, then encourage it to attack a student in full view of the rest of the school. She, aiming to impress the Board enough to elect her, would rush in and heroically rescue the student being attacked." He smiled slightly. "However, as she had told me, a little angrily, this plan had to change because of a certain piece of information she received, just before the start of the school year."

"Which was?" I tilted my head slightly.

"Sherlock Holmes was coming to Hogwarts." His smile grew a little wider. "The events I have told you about, the plot to overthrow our previous Headmaster at Durmstrang- I had solved that." There was a definite note of pride in his voice. "There are minor details which complicated things and so I was expelled. Professor Ctheiz seemed willing to take me in, however. Few teachers knew about the plot I had uncovered in Durmstrang, and Heartley was one of them. She decided I was too dangerous to have around while she was planning something," he added, quite gleefully. "To get rid of me, she would frame me; make it look like I'd killed a student. This wasn't difficult, considering the complications at Durmstrang that had been the cause of my expulsion.

"With Jacob dead, she pointed her wand at me and threatened to kill me unless I did what she said. Willing to cooperate if it meant I had time to solve the case, I freely did what I was told and walked back to the Castle, in full view of the classroom windows, so someone would see me coming back from the Forest without Jacob. I then Disapparated as soon as I had exited the grounds."

"So…So everyone thought you killed him. Where does the aconite come in?" I frowned.

"She had to make it look like I'd killed him, but not with a Killing Curse, they wouldn't think I'd know how. She had already prepared the aconite in her cottage, waiting for the perfect moment to frame me, so she simply fetched it and fed it into his system."

"You came here because no one would look for you here," I said aloud, more for my own benefit.

"Of course, I couldn't be seen, everyone thought I was a murderer." Sherlock narrowed his eyes. "So I had to bide my time here. I had no evidence, at least, none other than my own experiences."

"But you still don't have any evidence." I pointed out, a little dismayed.

He paused for a few moments. I noticed he was no longer leaning on the doorframe as heavily, more of a casual thoughtful stance. _He enjoys it. Solving stuff like this. _

"Yes I do," he announced, somewhat triumphantly. "You say the body you found was killed by an animal? Did it have wounds?"

I nodded, not wanting to think back to the steady drip of blood onto the Forest floor.

"Heartley still wanted to go ahead with her original plan, with me out the way," Sherlock continued, sounding excited. "But thought it would be more impressive if a few students died before she rescued any. So she dipped the Thestral's claws in liquid aconite. That way, only a tiny scratch would be needed, because she knew she wasn't very good at the Imperius Curse."

"So… If they check the wounds on the body." I gaped.

"As I said, she wasn't good at the Imperius Curse. Thestrals do not react very placidly to their claws being dipped in poison." He frowned. "She was very obviously not in control of the creatures. And Mycroft will vouch for me being in the house, not at Hogwarts. I could not have killed this student, and the aconite will provide the further evidence."

A sort of relieved silence existed in the few feet that separated us.

"You really didn't think I did it?" He frowned, as if he still couldn't believe it.

I shook my head, not really wanting to discuss it. "I didn't think you'd be that obvious," I tried to grin. There was a pause while Sherlock seemed to study me a little doubtfully. "Are we going to go back, then? I suppose we have to tell everyone. They'll try and kill you before you talk, you know," I pointed out.

"No doubt Mycroft has already sent an owl explaining everything," Sherlock replied with a slight smile. "While they may not trust the word of a suspected murderer, Ctheiz certainly trusts my brother."

"Who actually is he?" I sighed, as I realised my heart felt a lot lighter and the chains that had been twisting my stomach over the past few weeks had loosened considerably. _Professor Heartley. _As soon as I thought her name, I felt uncomfortable again. _Maybe you thought she was your friend. Sort of._

"Mycroft?" Sherlock scowled. "He likes to pretend he is a student occasionally. He runs the Ministry in his spare time."

"What?"

Sherlock ignored my stunned reply and strode over to a small dusty window on the left wall. I noticed he had a slight limp. He opened the window with a little difficulty, the hinges cracking alarmingly as it swung outwards. A large tawny owl promptly landed gracefully on the windowsill, and Sherlock quickly untied the reply from its leg.

"What does it say?" I scrambled over the piles of more books to reach where Sherlock was stood. He was frowning as his eyes raced across the parchment.

"They want us back. Now." He looked up at me.

"Who? Who's the reply from?" I leaned over.

"Vonich." Before I could say anything, Sherlock grabbed my arm and everything disappeared again into a whirl of confusion and pain.

I groaned as I hit the stone floor. Scrambling to my knees, I gritted my teeth and tried to make sense of my surroundings. We were back in Hogwarts, in one of the corridors, and the torches were lit and burning merrily on the walls.

"You can do it now too?" I groaned again as I swayed on my feet, gripping onto the nearest painting to hold myself, much to the dislike of the occupant.

"Do what?" Sherlock was stood next to me, not looking at me and instead gazing almost lovingly around the walls.

"We can't Apparate inside Hogwarts," I muttered, but pleased to find I wasn't feeling as sick as last time.

"Mycroft has the spare room linked up, he uses it quite frequently," Sherlock explained, then frowned. "Vonich's coming."

I stopped and listened carefully. No sooner than he had spoken I could hear hurried footsteps.

Professor Vonich stormed angrily around the corner to face us, robes flapping behind him and making him look like a giant bat. "Why did you not tell us sooner?" he positively screamed down the corridor.

"I think he means you," I nudged Sherlock with my elbow, fear gripping my chest again at the sight of the frankly terrifying Russian Potions Master striding towards us with his wand out.

"She could have been arrested weeks ago!" The head of Slytherin House looked rather deranged. "Weeks ago! What gave you the right to hold that inf-"

"Professor, have you arrested her yet?" Sherlock asked calmly, not looking at all fazed.

Vonich stopped, looking offended that Sherlock had interrupted his yelling. "They're checking the body right now," he snapped. "She has no idea."

Mycroft suddenly Apparated next to us, looking cheery. "No need to check, Professor." Vonich looked livid. "I'm sure you would be quicker than any of us to rejoice at the thought of your old enemy being in Azkaban." He looked at Sherlock. "The Aurors are on their way right now."

Without another word Sherlock grinned and set off down the corridor.

"Where are you going?" I yelled as I ran to catch up with him, after an apologetic glance at Mycroft.

"I don't want to miss this," he yelled back over his shoulder as he ran.

Minutes later we were hiding behind the fence of the unicorn paddock in the grounds. I presumed all the students had been ordered into the Great Hall because the grounds as well as the corridors were deserted.

"What exactly are we doing?" I hissed as we crouched down. Heartley's cottage was just visible over the little tussocks of grass, smoke from her cooking fire wafting gently from the chimney.

"Don't you want to see your friend's killer arrested?" he whispered back.

I frowned. "For a guy pretending you don't have any feelings, you're pretty good at reading other people's."

He didn't reply, and instead fixed his gaze on the door of her cottage. I did the same, although I wasn't quite sure what we were waiting for.

There was a sudden sharp crack, like a whip, and around two dozen robed figures appeared, surrounding the house. Everything happened so quickly I barely had any time to see what was going on- spells were cast, jets of bright blue light went straight through the walls of the cottage and screams from inside. Then the front door opened.

I could hardly believe I was really seeing this. My Care of Magical Creatures Teacher, who became what I thought had been my friend in the weeks after Jacob's death; bound by her ankles and wrists by magical sapphire chain, being dragged out of her house by Aurors, arrested for the murder of one of my best friends.

As they dragged her out, she was screaming and doing her best to make it difficult for the Aurors to keep hold of her. Two were standing behind her, however, wands out and clearly holding her upright in the air, as her feet were bound together. I squinted.

She didn't look like the teacher I'd known. Her face was screwed up in anger and all kinds of emotions I couldn't begin to guess at. I'd never seen her furious before but I supposed this was what it looked it. _It doesn't suit her. _

As the Aurors began to walk up towards the Castle with her suspended between them in the air, her screaming gradually became actual words. They drifted down to where Sherlock and I were crouched, but I wasn't sure that I wanted to hear them.

"The wolfsbane isn't mine! I swear, I have nothing to do with this whole thing!" They became fainter. "It's that boy, Holmes, he did it, I saw him-"

Her screaming faded away.

I got to my feet as she and the Aurors disappeared over the tussocks. "Where are they taking her?"

"To the Ministry, my brother will take care of things from there. As I said, he'll be quite pleased to wrap this one up himself," Sherlock replied, casting a sidelong glance at me. "Shall we?" He began to stride back up to the Castle.

As always, I jogged to catch up with him then fell into step beside him. There was silence between us for a few moments, the only sound being the rather strong wind.

"You're handling this rather well," Sherlock said awkwardly.

I wasn't sure how to reply. "Thanks," I said, but not in return to his compliment. "For… Well, thanks."

Sherlock for once seemed to be paying attention to my words. He didn't answer, just gave one of his side smiles.

"I suppose we'd better go and, you know, tell everyone you're not a murderer," I suggested lightly.

"You trusted me," he said suddenly, looking awkward again.

"Well, yeah," I said, surprised.

"No one has ever done that before."

"Well I suppose someone has to put up with you," I grinned. We walked back up to the Castle together.

ONE MONTH LATER

"I forgot to ask, what's up with you and Lestrade?" I took another bite out of my toast.

"Mm?" Sherlock looked up from the Prophet in his hands.

For once I was sat at the Slytherin table eating breakfast, and Sherlock was sitting opposite me. Usually I would drag him over to the Gryffindor table to sit with me and Amelia, and he didn't care at all where he sat. However, a few of the teachers had noticed and had scolded Sherlock for not being proud of his own House. To prove a point, Sherlock insisted that we switch tables every other day.

"You Stunned him in the Gryffindor common room a while ago. I haven't talked to him since," I explained.

"Oh, that," he waved a hand dismissively. "I put his father in Azkaban."

"You _what?" _

Sherlock, however, had returned to reading his newspaper.

The days after Heartley's arrest were difficult. Professor Ctheiz had made a reappearance, and had apparently explained to the whole school that Sherlock was innocent, and the general outline of the whole affair. It was quite clear that not many believed him, and were sceptical that one student could have worked out a murder plot. Sherlock was submitted to quite harsh comments in the corridors and lessons, although, as I expected, he never showed any signs of irritation or even that he cared in the slightest. I got fewer glares and stares than when it had first emerged that Sherlock was the killer, although I still got the odd suspicious glances from other House tables at dinner. I didn't mind though.

"Have you got a date for the Ball yet?" I asked, glancing around at the vibrant Christmas decorations in the Hall. The usual huge fir trees were accompanied by flocks of glowing golden owls and ribbons entwined with sprigs of holly and poinsettia flowers spiralled and danced high above our heads. This year, the teachers decided that the school needed a turnaround from recent dark events and so had organised a Winter Ball for the students to go to, on Christmas Eve. I presumed Sherlock was staying for Christmas, as he never seemed very keen on going back home.

"Not really my area." He didn't look up from his newspaper.

I tried not to laugh into my orange juice. "Well you have to go with someone. Why don't you ask Amelia?"

"I thought you were going with her?" he glanced up.

"What, you were actually thinking about it?" I replied, stunned.

"Obviously not," he snapped. "Merely curious."

I narrowed my eyes. "Well no, I'm not going with her."

"Who's your _date _then?" he spat the word.

"I don't have one either," I answered, a little sheepishly. "Anything interesting in there?" I nodded towards the paper.

He shook his head. "She's still in the courts, if that's what you're asking."

Rachel Heartley, no longer a Professor of Hogwarts, had been taken straight to the Ministry. Her trial was attempted to be kept secret, and this prevented any news coming out of whether she had actually admitted to the whole thing yet. It was taking much longer than I hoped it would.

The student's body had been identified as a Ravenclaw third year called Rex Thistledorf. I hadn't known him.

"John! Quiddich practice, you're going to be late!" Amelia yelled over the heads of the Slytherins on the table.

Sherlock was looking at me. He sometimes gave me these looks, as if he couldn't believe that I was still his friend. It passed as quickly as it had come.

"Here's the deal," I said quickly, trying not to laugh as I said it. "If neither of us have dates before tomorrow night, we have to go with each other. Deal?"

He was absorbed in the Prophet again. But as I left the table to join the rest of the Gryffindor Quiddich team heading out of the Hall, I was sure I saw him smile.

…..

_First off I'd like to apologise for the lengthy absences inbetween updating this! I wanted to make sure I got the plot right so it took me quite a while to write each bit. Hope you like the last chapter._

_A big big big thank you to anyone who's reading this. I really love getting feedback on it and I think I would have given up on this a long time ago if people hadn't said they liked it. I seriously cannot thank you guys enough._

_I'm definitely going to do more of Sherlock/HP, but more of little ideas rather than big plot things. I love it.  
_

_Anyway thank you again!_


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